Page 3 of Rescuing His Forever

“Thanks for making time to come out here, but I’ll go ahead and tell my boss this whole thing is unnecessary.”

“Roxy, you can’t–”

“Sorry to make you come out here and waste your time on such a beautiful morning,” she continues. Roxy turns her back to me and sashays out the door, disappearing behind the corner.

I’m left speechless, gaping after the whirlwind of a woman. She dismissed me? Yeah, I don’t think so, sweetheart.

Chapter 2

Roxy

Holy hotness, Batman, I think as I step out of the conference room and turn down the nearest hallway. My heart is racing, my cheeks are flushed, and a thin sheen of sweat dots my upper lip and temples.

“Wait,” the giant bodyguard calls after me. I look over my shoulder, my eyes catching on his strong arms, corded with muscle and swirling with ink.

I panic, not sure what to say or how to handle the man chasing after me. As if by some miracle, I happen to escape down the hallway where the bathrooms are located. I veer off to the right as soon as I see the women’s bathroom sign, opening the door and hiding inside.

Leaning against the door, I take a second to catch my breath. Who the hell was that? I mean, I know who he is. He told me. He’s the bodyguard my boss, Erica, hired. The thing is, I don’t need a bodyguard. A few letters aren’t worth all this fuss. I learned early on that words are empty. Actions are what matter.

I close my eyes against the memory of my first foster mother. When the social worker dropped me off, Mrs. Meyer invited both of us in. She made me hot chocolate with marshmallows while she and my social worker had coffee. My future foster mother said all the right things, going on about how I’d have my own room and making plans to sign me up for piano lessons and soccer. It all sounded wonderful. Too good to be true.

And it was.

As soon as the social worker pulled out of the driveway, Mrs. Meyer snatched the mug of hot chocolate out of my hands and told me to do the dishes. From then on, it was constant chores. I did end up with my own room, but it was more like a prison. Every night after dinner, I was to do the dishes and then head straight to bed so as not to annoy or aggravate Mrs. Meyer. She ensured I stayed out of the way by locking the door until she was ready to deal with me in the morning.

Taking a deep breath, I dismiss those thoughts and bring myself back into the present. I peel my back off the door and walk over to the sink, leaning over it and staring in the mirror. Just like Mrs. Meyer’s words meant nothing, I’m sure whoever is behind the letters is full of shit.

I pull out my phone and log into my work email. I send my boss a quick message letting her know the bodyguard is an unnecessary expense. I even give her a few suggestions on how that money could be better spent.

I get a response immediately, which is a bit surprising. Erica is always swamped with paperwork. I thought she wouldn’t even see my email until later in the day, thus giving me a few hours of peace.

Roxy—This is not up for negotiation. You’re part of the Sea Change family, and you’ve been threatened. We take that very seriously. It’s only until we can update our building security and determine who is sending the letters.

Wow. No sign-off either, which means she’s in no mood to argue.

I let out a frustrated sigh and shove my phone back into my pocket before looking at myself in the mirror again. You do not have a crush on your bodyguard, I repeat in my head a few times. He may be tall and muscled and sexy as sin, but he’s probably an arrogant jerk who likes to throw around his weight to intimidate people.

He certainly wouldn’t be the first man I’ve met who used his strength for harm. Then again, even when he snapped at me, I didn’t sense danger. Frustration, sure, but he never made me feel unsafe.

Probably because you were too distracted by his stubble and golden-brown eyes.

“Ugh,” I say out loud, rolling my eyes at my silly thoughts.

Fine. I guess I have to handle this like the “real” adult I am. Most days, I still feel like the little lost kid who showed up on the steps of the police station at five years old with no idea where my mother had gone. I became a ward of the state shortly after and bounced around from home to home until I was finally able to graduate and go to college on a full scholarship.

Fake it ‘til you make it, right? It’s worked so far.

After my little pep-talk, I’m feeling a bit calmer. I open the bathroom door and run right into a freaking wall.

“Oh!” I exclaim, confused as I stumble back a bit. It takes me a second to realize I ran into my bodyguard.

His large hands wrap around my shoulders, keeping me steady. Those golden-brown eyes lock onto mine, and I can’t look away. The man furrows his brow as he stares into the depths of me like he’s trying to figure me out. Good luck, buddy.

Once I’m stable on my feet, he takes a step back. The strangest feeling washes over me like ice trickling into my veins. I’m suddenly freezing without his warm touch.

“Rule number one,” the man announces, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “No running away from me.”

I blink up at him a few times, wondering if he’s serious about giving me rules. I’ve had enough ridiculous rules from foster families throughout the years to last me a lifetime.